One More Fare to Make Your Night
by unforth
Summary: As he's gotten older, actor Castiel Novak has cared less about big-money roles and more about work that interests him. His latest project, playing a small-town sheriff in the TV show "Angel Falls," brings him to Miami, where he finds a surprising friend in the cabbie who picks him up at the airport. If only he could get Dean to think of him as anything other than a fare...
1. Chapter 1

It's time for Writing Prompt Wednesday! This story was written for last week's theme, which was "Celebrity AUs."

 **What is Writing Prompt Wednesday?**

Writing Prompt Wednesday is a feature I run on my Tumblr. Followers, readers and friends suggest themes for AUs, and I come up with a list of prompts based on the suggested them. Then, based on those prompts, anyone who wants to join in writes up a short story (or a long story, I guess) and posts it to Tumblr (or AO3, or , or wherever) and tags it Writing Prompt Wednesday!

You can read more about Writing Prompt Wednesday, and read this week's entries, at

This week, I chose this prompt:

 _I never wanted to be like those other celebrities who act like they're a different species than regular people, I really make an effort to try to be nice to everyone, and it's been especially gratifying that you treat me completely normally…so normally that I can't figure out how to get you to pay attention to me…_

So, two days before WPW, knowing that "celebrity AUs" was my next theme, I was driving behind a taxi from a company called "Deen's Taxis" and it got me thinking...I pushed those thoughts aside until today so that it stayed just a kernel, but now that I've written all the prompts I can go ahead and play with this one (I really try not to get ideas ahead of time, but sometimes it's hard).

Oh, and guys? I don't know crap about Miami or about Vancouver and I was unusually lazy with my research this time...so forgive the probably horrible inaccuracies...

Relationship: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Characters: Castiel; Dean Winchester; Ellen Harvelle; Jo Harvelle; Ash (Supernatural)

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting; Actor Castiel; Switch Castiel; Switch Dean; Gay Castiel; Gay Dean; Homophobia; Hate Crimes; Past Rape/Non-con; Past Child Abuse; Taxi Driver Dean; Veteran Dean; Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD; Misunderstandings

* * *

Vancouver was unusually sunny and bright when Castiel boarded his plane, bound for two weeks of on-site filming in Miami. It was an annoying reversal of his expectations when he debarked to late-night darkness and pouring rain. A shapeless hoodie and a hat pulled low over his brow, ostensibly to protect him from the rain, offered scant protection from those who might pester him if they recognized him. If even one person realized who he was, he'd get swamped by fans looking for his autograph. Normally, he didn't mind, but he was exhausted, his luggage had taken an hour to appear on the carousel, and his mind was swimming with the lines he'd spent the flight memorizing. The last thing he wanted was to have to put on a show to impress the public.

Luck was with him: everyone seemed intent on keeping their faces lowered from the downpour, their eyes fixed on the ground to mind their footing. Even the TSA security guard who insisted that Castiel remove his hat didn't expose him; there was a glimmer of recognition on the guards face but she said nothing. Joining the end of a long line of people waiting for taxis, Castiel breathed a sigh of relief. He was almost done running the gauntlet. Once he was at the hotel, he should be okay.

Thoughts about the upcoming filming passed the time spent in the cab queue. There were a lot of people waiting and few cars coming in and, after how long it had taken Castiel's luggage to come down the carousel, he was last in the queue. The media had gone nuts when Castiel switched from lucrative movie roles to take the starring part on _Angel Falls_ , but as he'd gotten older, he'd felt increasingly out of place as a leading man playing opposite women a decade or more younger than him. The plot of _Angel Falls_ appealed to him and he appreciated how a seasonal arc gave time to develop a story more extensively than a movie could. Ostensibly, the show was a drama about small-town backstabbing, but there was a paranormal back story driving events that was getting revealed bit by bit. Better yet was the diversity of the cast - on every level, from PA to producer, an effort had been made to create a living, breathing town that reflected the actual demographics of a comparable place. The result was a wide spread of characters of different races, ethnicities, religions, and sexualities. Castiel played the town's police chief Emmanuel Allen, a middle aged man hiding his homosexuality as Castiel had never bothered to do in real life, trying to figure out the causes of the bizarre events causing chaos amongst the townsfolks. Most of the episodes took place on studio soundstage built to look like the town, but for the season finale, Allen had been called to a meeting with the FBI. The information that came out in those meetings was going to be a big reveal for the audience and Castiel was determined to do a good job. Running lines endlessly in his head, Castiel considered each way that the dialog could be interpreted, how he might react, what his directors might suggest.

There was no reason the scenes needed to be done in Miami, except apparently the show had the budget to do so and the general consensus was that beautiful, exotic locales were a draw for the viewers at home – that and the fact that theoretically the town of Angel Falls was in Florida even though in the first 20 episodes there wasn't a single shot of any place that resembled Florida.

 _I don't understand_ , was Allen's blank reaction to the FBI agent, a character named Henriksen, as the man explained to him that the supernatural existed, _what has any of this to do with me?_

"Hey!"

 _But this means everyone in the town is in danger! It's my job to protect them – to protect_ all _of them!_

"Dude, this century?"

 _How am I supposed to keep something like this a secret?_

"Fuck it, fine, if you _like_ standing in the rain..."

Castiel snapped out of his reverie to find that he was the only person in the line and a disgruntled cabbie was circling back to the driver's side of his black, rain-drenched car, muttering under his breath.

"I'm sorry," Castiel said. The taxi driver stopped and turned, shoulders hunched against the driving downpour. "Thank you, yes, I'm ready to go."

"Awesome," said the cabbie dryly. His voice was low, face shadowed by a hat and the darkness of the night. He came around, unlocked the trunk, and waited for an invitation before loading Castiel's luggage effortlessly. As he did, Castiel climbed into the back seat, all too aware of how damp his hoodie had gotten. Despite the warmth of the evening, he shivered.

"Want the heat up?" asked the cabbie, settling into the front seat. The cab was a gypsy, a Lincoln town car with a lot of leg room, a meter, and a picture of the driver in a plastic case attached to the back of the front passenger seat. Castiel shrugged indifferently.

"Whatever you're comfortable with, I'll be fine. I'm staying at the Mandarin Oriental – I've got the address if you need it," Castiel said, digging into his pocket for his phone.

"Wow, high roller," the cabbie whistled, impressed. "Don't bother with the address, I know where it is." Starting the engine, the cabbie turned the heat up, rolled his window down a crack, looked over his shoulder to check for nonexistent oncoming traffic, and hit the road. The first few minutes of the drive passed in silence, and then the cabbie said, "you one of those fares interesting in being left the hell alone, or you want to chat?"

"I suppose I'm fine regardless," said Castiel with a smile. "What would you want to talk about?"

"First time in Miami?" the cabbie asked gruffly.

"I was here once before, a long time ago." Castiel leaned over slightly to read the name on the driver's license – Dean Winchester – and the photo showed a man with tanned skin, a wash of dark freckles over his nose, a strong chin, and clear, pale eyes that might have been blue or green, it was hard to tell in the low-quality photo. "Spent about a month."

"Work or pleasure?"

"What, is this an interrogation?" Castiel's smile broke into a laughing tone.

"Sorry, my bad – just tryin' to get to know you, make small talk." Dean caught Castiel's eye in the rearview mirror and gave him a smirk. "Talk about something other than the rain. Most people who get in the cab want to talk about themselves and encouraging that helps pass the time, ya know? _Most_ folks are more interesting than they give themselves credit for. As I said, if you don't want to, no pressure."

"I'm here for work," said Castiel. "But I like my work, so it's not bad. Before you ask – I'm an actor. So, what about you – you live in Miami for a long time?"

"20 some-odd years," Dean said as he pulled onto a ramp and slowed, waiting for an opportunity to merge. Despite the late hour – well after midnight – traffic was fairly heavy on the highway, and a constant stream of headlights sailed by them in the left lanes. "It's as good a place as any, I guess."

"That's the least enthusiastic I've ever heard anyone about this city," said Castiel. "Most people say they really like it."

"Most of the people at the Mandarin Oriental sure would," Dean said wryly. "Miami's great if you got money. For the average Joe, though...well, folks need cabs here, and I own my car so I set the hours. I get by." He paused. "Crap. Don't let me get maudlin on ya – if you're looking for things to do, there's plenty that's fun, some kick-ass restaurants, that kind of thing. I'm good for pointers, if you need anything."

"Really? You do food recommendations?"

"Comes with the territory," shrugged Dean against the cushioning on his chair. "People treat cabbies like a concierge – expect us to know all the local shit. I'm happy to help, though it's a little late for a meal on a week night, most of the night spots close by one this time of year."

"I'm fine, I ate a meal on the plane," said Castiel. "Maybe tomorrow?"

"Woah, little early to ask me out," Dean said with an easy laugh, obviously unoffended, obviously joking. "But I can hook you up with a ride, if that'd help you out."

"That would be very helpful, yes," Castiel nodded. "I'm in town a couple weeks and I won't have a rental. I could use someone I can rely on to give me a ride."

"Rely on, huh?" Dean shot him a sardonic smile. "Well, I can't promise I won't have another fare when you get in touch, but here's my digits." Without taking his eyes from the road, Dean grabbed a card from a holder on his dashboard and passed it back. It was simple and unadorned: his name, profession, phone number and e-mail, the kind available cheaply from printers on the internet, but it projected a simple professionalism and good judgment. "I'm Dean, by the way."

"Cas," replied Castiel warmly, using his preferred nickname, the one he told people he hoped to be friends with, the one that helped ensure that members of the public didn't identify him out from his name. 'Castiel' wasn't exactly inconspicuous as first names went. Even though Castiel had said he was an actor, Dean didn't show any signs of recognition, either of Castiel's face or of the nickname.

"Nice to meet you, Cas."

They made small talk for the rest of the short trip. Dean had an easy manner, though the longer they spoke the more Cas sensed an underlying bitterness beneath his words. Castiel doubted most people would have noticed; Dean had professional good humor down to a science, joking without getting too personal, skilled at keeping conversation going. Underneath that, though, Castiel recognized lingering unhappiness, could sense the undercurrents of dissatisfaction. It wasn't surprising; Castiel thought most people would be unhappy if their life put them in the position of having to work driving a cab through the long night in order to make ends meet. That Dean put on a bold front impressed Castiel. Castiel wasn't the only actor in the car.

When they pulled up to the hotel, brilliantly lit and gleaming on a pier sticking out into the pitch black waters of the ocean, Dean hopped out and retrieved Castiel's luggage from the trunk. The uniformed night valet took it from Dean, giving Dean's blue jeans and wet, ratty flannel a disdainful look that guaranteed that Castiel would be giving him a meager tip. Dean, on the other hand, earned every penny of his sizeable gratuity.

"Thank you," Castiel said warmly. In the light of the entry foyer, it was easier to make out Dean's attractive appearance. The eyes that had looked pale in his DMV shot were deep forest green in the night, his skin even more tanned than it had been, his body lean and obviously muscular beneath his casual attire, his cheeks feathered with stubble. Castiel thought they were probably around the same age.

"Night, Cas," Dean replied, knuckling his forehead apparently unthinkingly. "You sure you don't want change?" Castiel shook his head. "Thanks, man, I owe you."

"Not a penny. Yhat's the whole point of my not wanting change," laughed Castiel. "By the way – you said you might be busy with other fares tomorrow. What if I scheduled an appointment – say, 10 PM pick up for dinner? From here? I expect you to be ready with a couple good recommendations. I don't know any local restaurants."

"Works for me," said Dean with a grin, pocketing the money. "See ya then." Dean gave the valet a cocky wink and returned to the driver's seat, and Castiel headed into the hotel's lavish lobby to check into his room. Evenings when he wasn't working were one of the worst parts of traveling for shoots; hotel rooms alone at night were a drag and he'd lost interest in the nightlife years before. Turning 40 had that effect.

 _I wonder what Dean would say if I did ask him out on a date._

* * *

"Thanks for getting here so early, Dean," said Castiel, stifling a yawn. It had been a busy couple weeks, working twelve hours or more to get all the footage they'd need, and his flight left at 6:30 in the morning. Given that he was still on Pacific Time, he wasn't sure why he'd bothered going to sleep the night before.

"Late, for me," Dean shrugged. "Overnight fares are few and far between but the ones I get tend to be large enough to balance things out. And there's always folks who need pick up early in the morning."

"Do you ever sleep?" joked Castiel. Dean scowled at the valet until the sneering fellow gave over trying to get Castiel's luggage into the trunk and let Dean do it. Since Castiel had arrived in Miami, Dean had shown up every time Castiel had called for a pick up, regardless of how early or how late. He'd driven Castiel to filming locations, to meals, to the movies, and back from everything. There'd only been twice when he'd said he was completely unavailable because he was too booked up. Castiel had never been the kind to have a personal driver before, but it was nice to have someone reliable come get him, nice to be greeted by a friendly, handsome face, nice to pass the time in the car – sometimes quite long, depending on the traffic – with someone amiable. Dean was rough around the edges but intelligent and insightful, and they had a lot in common.

"No sleep 'til Brooklyn," Dean joked. "Seriously, I'd drive you to Brooklyn if you paid me enough."

"Why not fly to Brooklyn?" Castiel asked. "Driving seems...inefficient."

"Don't like planes," Dean said, his tone ice cold and closed off in stark contrast to his usual smiles and wry humor.

 _I wonder what happened to him. I want to know so much more than it'll ever be my place to ask._

Neither said anything as Castiel got comfortable in the now-familiar backseat and Dean took his place behind the wheel. Normally, they picked up their conversations wherever they had left off their previous ride. They'd talked about music and theater, about night life and drinking and parties, about movies and TV shows, and Dean had dropped enough casual hints to make it clear that he had pieced together Castiel's identity and that he didn't give a shit. The previous night they'd been discussing travel. As it turned out, they had in common having seen large swathes of the US. Neither went in to much detail about the circumstances of that travel, though Dean had implied that his had been done in the company of members of family, and Castiel played it close to the vest that much of his had been due to the vagaries of his time in the foster system. Normally, when Castiel had conversations about travel it was with other stars and they talked about all the gorgeous places they'd stayed, the spectacular sights they'd seen, the lavish meals they'd eaten, the famous people they'd done extravagant things with. He appreciated that his experiences and Dean's were more similar than that. They each had favorite diners and had visited random roadside attractions and could describe any number of generic small towns and boring highways. They'd left off laughing about how endless driving across Texas was, but Castiel couldn't find any enthusiasm for resuming the topic. All it did was remind him of how far he was about to travel, how far away Dean would be after this.

 _Crush on the cabbie. Great job, Cas._

 _But he's smart and interesting and interested and doesn't seem to give a shit who I am. That's a combination I don't find often. He's gorgeous and he's about my age._

 _But I don't even know if he's interested in men or if he's available. Someone his age? I bet he works as hard as he does to support a family._

 _...why would that have to be the case? I work hard and I don't have a family..._

"Dean?" he asked hesitantly. The roads were empty so early and what little time remained for them to spend together was rapidly passing. Castiel knew it bothered him more than it should have, but he couldn't help how he felt.

"Yeah?"

"I wanted to thank you for how helpful you've been these past couple weeks," said Castiel. "This trip has been far more pleasant than I anticipated and a lot of that was down to you."

"Hey, I just provide a service, you happened to find it helpful..." Dean shrugged. Castiel desperately wanted to meet Dean's eyes, read his expression, but Dean didn't glance up at the rear view mirror and his expression was shadowed strangely, dark in the night only to be highlighted starkly each time they passed beneath a street light.

 _Of course it's nothing more than that to him. It'd be foolish of me to assume more. A waitress is friendly knowing that customers expect good service and might leave a bigger tip if she's agreeable. Dean is doing nothing different from that and it's entirely appropriate. And it did earn him some very good tips._

Plenty of people had taken advantage of Castiel: some supposedly his friends, some significant others, some colleagues, some complete strangers, all banking on his fame and wealth. Despite Dean's words, though, and despite his own thoughts, Castiel couldn't credit that Dean was like those people had been. Dean's self-deprecation was of a piece with the things he'd said that subtly hinted at his low opinion of his worth and the indications of an underlying sense that Dean felt that he was wasting his life.

 _He's not wrong. As smart and personable as he is, he could do so much more than be a taxi driver. If he persisted in doing this because it made him happy, because he loved Miami, or something like that, it'd be one thing, but he's obviously miserable..._

"So, you think you'll be back in Miami for more work...?" Dean asked. His eyes finally flicked to the rear view mirror and, as they passed beneath another street lamp, Castiel was caught by a gleam of dazzling deep green that took his breath away.

"Unfortunately, probably not," said Castiel. Dean hit the brakes as they took a ramp off the highway, the large terminals of the airport starkly lit by flood lights off to their right, and Castiel felt the distance passing as an unjustifiable tightness in his chest. "I'm currently working on a TV show. We don't often do on-location shoots, it's not in the budget."

"Makes sense," Dean nodded and Castiel easily convinced himself that he imagined the hint of disappointment in Dean's voice. Signs pointed the way to the departure gates for Air Canada and Dean followed where they indicated. "Well, if you do come back, you know where to find me." There was a pause, a little too long, and Castiel forced himself to keep silent though he allowed his imagination to toy with the implications of Dean's words. "If you still need a taxi, I mean." Embarrassment was obvious in Dean's tone and his were eyes fixed on the road before him, and Castiel could only wonder if he was indulging in pure fantasy.

Wondering was pointless. They'd never see each other again.

 _Unless..._

They pulled up to the brightly lit drop-off area and Dean immediately stopped the car and hopped out to get Castiel's luggage out. Reluctantly, Castiel followed, stepping out. He already had the fare ready, crumpled in his pocket, a fifty dollar bill for the twenty five dollar fare. By the time he'd stood and gotten himself straightened out, Dean was already done with the luggage. He slammed the trunk closed and started towards the driver's door, no mention made of payment.

"Dean!" Castiel said, voice harsher than he meant it to be, and Dean froze like he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't.

"Have a safe trip, Cas," said Dean lamely, eyes fixed on his car door and escape. Circling the car, Castiel caught Dean in a rough embrace, loose enough to pass as friendly, close enough that he could feel the strength of Dean's muscles and smell aftershave and leather _._ Given half a chance, Castiel could lose himself in that smell. _I really do like him a lot. Maybe, somehow, this doesn't have to be the last time I see him?_ He dug the money from his pocket and pressed it into Dean's hand.

"Thanks, Dean. I'll keep in touch."

 _Oh God, why did I say that?_

Dean didn't answer, not when his fingers closed around the offered money, not when Castiel released the hug and stepped away, not when Castiel hurried back to his luggage, not when he went to the curbside check-in where a bored, wilting agent waited to help him.

 _Who keeps in touch with their cabbie?_

Chastising himself, Castiel quickly got set, granted the agent's request for an autograph and turned to enter the terminal.

 _He must think I'm so weird_.

Dean was still standing next to his car, watching Castiel wide-eyed. Castiel froze.

"Um...I'd like that, Cas," Dean said. His awkward body language, the uncertain expression on his face, the uncomfortable way he ruffled his hair with one hand, all projected such a picture of bemused shyness that Castiel's heart melted. He didn't move until Dean finally looked up to see the warm smile that Castiel couldn't keep from his face, and he had the gratification of seeing Dean give him an embarrassed one in return and a small wave.

 _I wish I was staying another week. Another month. Maybe I'll come back when we're done filming._

* * *

If you've heard the Harry Chapin song "Taxi," it has definitely been in my head while I've been working on this story. Mine's not at all the same story, but I had that flavor in my head...I have no idea if that shows or not, but there we are...

More later today!


	2. Chapter 2

_Castiel (8:24 PM): I've arrived in Vancouver._

 _Dean (8:32 PM): Uh Cas are you sure you meant to send this to me?_

 _Castiel (8:33 PM): Why? Is it strange that I would want to tell you that I was well?_

 _Dean (8:34 PM): Shit I don't know maybe a little._

 _Castiel (8:36 PM): I'm sorry. You seemed uncomfortable at the prospect of flying and after our parting exchange I thought you might be worried and I wanted to be sure you knew there was nothing to worry about. If I've made you uncomfortable, that wasn't my intention._

 _Dean (8:53 PM): Thank you._

 _Dean (8:54 PM): I was worried._

Normally, Castiel might have felt like an idiot, staring at his phone and smiling gently, but he couldn't help it. It had been so long since he'd met someone he thought he might really be able to care for, it'd been so long since he'd met anyone like Dean. He wasn't going to let four thousand miles get in the way of that.

 _Castiel (9:01 PM): Are you having a nice evening?_

All he had to do was keep Dean talking to him until he could get back.

* * *

Filming on _Angel Falls_ was wrapping for the season when Castiel got a call from his agent with an attractive offer. USA wanted him for a winter-season show, high pay, low commitment, probably only one season. If the show had sounded dull, Castiel might have said no, but the premise was fascinating, a psychological drama about a therapist – that would be Castiel – and a young woman with a troubled, violent past. The two started out as strangers and ended up committing a murder together, and Castiel loved the way their relationship changed and grew and deepened, and he loved that there was no romantic component to the bond that they forged. He'd been hoping to return to Miami, but he couldn't turn down such promising work. That night he traded texts with Dean and got nothing but encouragement, so he gave Jody the green light to negotiate on his behalf and next thing he knew he had signed a contract and was committed to another two months of shooting in Vancouver.

He told himself the tightness in his chest didn't mean anything.

He told himself that whatever he had with Dean wasn't enough to justify how attached he was.

They'd exchanged texts for three months but there'd been no build in their relationship. It remained the same casual back-and-forth as they'd enjoyed when Dean was driving and Castiel was a passenger. Castiel felt awkward pursuing further intimacy via text and Dean never suggested that he wanted more, though he never suggested that they stop, either. It was frustrating, trying to guess Dean's inflection and meaning from dry, lifeless words, easy for Castiel to color them with whatever emotion he wanted, pretend he was reading a movie script. When he asked for clarification, Dean tended to give it tersely and vaguely, avoiding confidences.

 _And yet..._

Dean always answered. Dean always talked to him about whatever Castiel wanted to talk about, entered into conversation enthusiastically when he could, apologized when he wasn't available on the instant as if Castiel didn't know that Dean had a job. Dean always gave him honest answers, as far as Castiel could tell. Dean always listened and he gave good, relevant advice. Whatever else Dean might or might not be, Castiel felt confident that they were friends.

 _And yet..._

Dean never initiated conversation. Dean never asked for Castiel's opinion, never talked about issues he was having. Dean never spoke about his past, though Castiel didn't either so he could hardly judge. Dean never made mention of his family, his friends, never spoke about anything in his life other than his job. Sometimes, Castiel could convince himself that was because there was nothing in Dean's life but his job, but that seemed like such a sad state of affairs for such a kind, giving man that Castiel couldn't take the possibility seriously.

 _And yet..._

Dean was always there for him and never asked anything in return, and Castiel didn't even have the nerve to ask _why_.

The filming for USA carried Castiel into the fall; halfway through, he got an irresistible offer for a movie and that commitment took more months and took him to London, Paris and Amsterdam. The best part was getting to travel internationally for the first time in a while. The worst part was that he couldn't text Dean while he was there. Asking the taxi driver to front the cost of international texts at 50 cents each wasn't fair. Castiel had offered him money to cover the expense but Dean had bristled at the suggestion and Castiel hadn't brought it up again. Castiel sent occasional e-mails instead, but sending them regularly was more bother and Dean was worse about replying. It wasn't the same; there was an immediacy to text messages lacking from more formal messages and it made the distance between them feel immense.

He thought it should bother him that _that_ was the worst part, but it truly was.

 _I've got to get back to Miami. I have to find out what this is._

* * *

Arranging his flight back to Vancouver by way of Miami was ridiculous, and Castiel knew it. He did it anyway. Filming on the next season of _Angel Falls_ was slated to begin in February and Castiel had a few weeks before then and a pile of scripts to learn. Carving out a week was an indulgence, the moreso because Jody had suggested several small gigs – a few days each – that would have earned Castiel enough to be well worth it. He turned the jobs down and got himself a hotel room in Miami for five days at the Hampton Inn, figuring it was a nice hotel without being ostentatious. Dean seemed put off by Castiel's wealth and if Castiel could do small things to ensure that his finances weren't rubbed in Dean's face, he would.

Nerves didn't plague him in the weeks leading up to his trip, he was too busy with work, too exhausted from the time changes and the constant filming at all times of day and night. It wasn't until he was boarding the plane at Heathrow that he had the chance to breathe and register what he was doing. He hadn't even warned Dean he was coming. On the one hand, he wanted it to be a surprise; on the other hand, he wanted a chance to see Dean's genuine response to his presence, not get a rehearsed or pre-planned reply.

 _I could just_ ask _Dean what he thinks of me...or I can try to surprise and manipulate it out of him. Great job, as usual, Cas_.

Knowing that he wasn't behaving well, that he wasn't communicating well, didn't help Castiel handle things any better. A childhood of being shunted around, unwanted and in the way, had given him a slew of bad habits, and while he did his best to compensate for them, there were things he simply _couldn't_ do. Opening his mouth and risking the tenuous equilibrium that was currently bringing him happiness was one of those things. He'd fixed himself enough to at least _recognize_ what he was doing. More than that was still beyond him; he could only hope that Dean understood – even as he knew, intellectually, that he was setting things up in a way that helped guarantee that Dean wouldn't understand.

The flight was long and agonizing. Self-recrimination alternated with optimism as he wondered how Dean would react and attempted to temper his sky-high expectations. By the time he finally got off the plane to a sunny afternoon – twelve hours in the air yet the clock still said it was afternoon, damn time zones – he was a tense wreck.

 _Castiel (2:51 PM): Can you pick me up at the airport?_

 _Dean (2:51 PM): You in Miami Cas?_

 _Castiel (2:52 PM): Yes, Dean._

 _Dean (2:53 PM): Why didn't you say anything? Will you be staying long?_

 _Dean (2:54 PM): Sorry. None of my business. I just dropped of a fare. Be there in 25 minutes if that works for you._

Castiel sighed, tapping his foot impatiently as he waited by the baggage carousel, trying to figure out what to say.

 _Castiel (2:55 PM): That's fine, Dean_.

 _There's so much more I should say, but how can I? How could I explain why I didn't say anything? "Dean, I want to come to Miami just to see you but how you'll react to that utterly terrifies me so I thought I'd ambush you instead." Yeah, that'd go over fantastic. And then there's his immediate assumption that it's inappropriate for him to ask those questions, as if I wouldn't do my best to answer any question he asked me honestly. Oh, Dean…_

 _Castiel (2:56 PM): I'm still waiting for my luggage anyway._

 _Castiel (2:58 PM): I'll be here for five days, then I return to Vancouver._

He didn't attempt to answer the other question, justifying his silence by pointing out that Dean was surely driving and he shouldn't be texting while behind the wheel. Retrieving his luggage, he headed outside to wait in the balmy southern Florida weather, unpleasantly warm as compared to the chilly, damp weather prevalent in Europe. Every local was easily recognizable, bundled up as if they were venturing to the frigid northland. None of them had the least clue how cold it'd be in Vancouver when Castiel finally returned home.

The wait for Dean passed agonizingly slowly, the same thoughts going round and round in Castiel's head, but he rebuffed all. Regardless of whether or not coming to Miami was the worst idea he'd ever had, he was there and he wouldn't be a coward about it now. The same dubiously supportive thoughts had sustained him through a year of unsuccessful auditions before he landed his first movie role; they would get him through seeing Dean. Finally, the familiar taxi pulled up, black and shiny as if new washed, a light atop naming the ride "Dean's Taxi," the sides sporting a tasteful decal with his phone number and rates. Dean emerged from the vehicle, somehow looking precisely as Castiel recalled yet much more handsome and enticing. His brown hair was short and spiked back from his forehead, something about the style reminding Castiel of military buzz cuts, his skin tan and freckled, and where the previous summer he'd worn t-shirts, with the winter "cold" of Miami he'd added a worn leather jacket.

 _That explains why he smelled of leather…_

 _…_ _God is he_ gorgeous.

"Hey, Cas," Dean said with a smile, popping the trunk and coming around to get Castiel's luggage. "Welcome to Miami."

"Hello, Dean," replied Castiel. His heart was beating much too quickly and it was difficult to get enough air. _How ridiculous can you be? There's nothing here, nothing like what you've been thinking._

 _…_ _no. It's not unreasonable for me to like him, not unreasonable for me to care. Even if it's mostly been by text message, we've been friends for seven months now. It's not wrong of me to be interested in Dean, nothing wrong with my discussing that with him to see if he feels the same way._

"No, no, you're supposed to reply 'bienvenido a Miami,' " Dean joked as he stowed the suitcase. Castiel looked at him blankly. "Tell me you've heard that song." Castiel shook his head. "Alright, that's the first thing we're doing when you get in the car, and then…" Dean trailed off and there was an unmistakable pink flush beneath the brown of his cheeks. "Where am I takin' ya?"

"The Hampton Inn Miami Downtown," said Castiel. He'd have given anything to know what Dean hadn't said, but he hadn't the nerve to ask. Slamming the trunk shut, Dean got back in the car, Castiel followed suit, and moments later saw them pulling into early rush hour traffic with Dean's radio blaring, " _Party in the city where the heat is on – all night on the beach til the break of dawn – Welcome to Miami – bienvenido a Miami_." For the first time, it occurred to Castiel that Dean's tanned skin was likely a credit to the Miami beaches. He felt like an idiot that it hadn't occurred to him before.

 _I know so little about him._

"So, just a few days this time?" Dean asked conversationally when the music finished. "That's hardly enough time to get your feet wet."

"Especially because I didn't bring a bathing suit," said Castiel unhappily. The moment had come for him to open up and instead he couldn't find a damn thing to say. He was jetlagged and tired and all he really wanted to do was grab Dean, hold him tight and ask him to spend the night. Who cared that it was 3 in the afternoon? But the voice in his head that screamed this was all a bad idea was finally winning, bolstered by pointed reminders of all the things Castiel didn't know about Dean despite how long they'd been friends. "When I left for Europe I thought I'd be going straight home to Vancouver afterwards so I didn't pack anything for this kind of weather."

"There's some good shopping in the neighborhood of your hotel, if you're looking for a wardrobe change – Hawaiian shirts optional," Dean suggested, slipping easily into "taxi cab concierge mode" and causing Castiel to feel even worse.

"Good to know," he managed noncommittally.

Awkward, tense silence fell.

"Staying in downtown, you won't need a taxi as often," Dean tried again. Castiel convinced himself easily that he was imagining the wistful note in Dean's voice. "Lot of places to eat in walking distance…"

"I hadn't thought of that," said Castiel. _Dammit, stop sounding so cold and distant. This is_ Dean _. I've been obsessing about him for months! What the hell is wrong with me?_ "If I had, I'd have booked something further out." Dean laughed, glanced in the rearview mirror – _his eyes are so beautiful, I've missed them so much_ – and cut off.

"You're serious?"

"Utterly," Castiel agreed. "I missed you, Dean."

Dean's cheeks went magenta and he locked his eyes back on the road. _I'm making him uncomfortable, I'm assuming too much, I—_

"I missed you too, Cas," mumbled Dean, so softly that Castiel almost didn't hear him over the hiss of the car's air conditioner. " 'specially…" The end of his sentence was lost in background noise, lost in the rush of air and the loud pounding of blood in Castiel's ears.

"What was that?" he asked breathlessly.

"Just – while you were in Europe – it was…weird…not to hear from you," Dean shrugged. "Guess I got used to it. Stupid way to feel, really."

"No!" Castiel said with too much vehemence. Dean flinched. "It's not stupid, Dean. I wanted to text you so often, but—" An angry honk interrupted Castiel as Dean pulled abruptly onto a ramp from the highway. The car swept into heavy traffic and Dean focused on the road, the intensity of his concentration as solid as a barrier as Castiel tried to figure out what he'd been intending to say, what he was willing to admit to.

"Well, no worries," Dean managed cheerfully as the car pulled up to a building and Castiel realized with a sick feeling that they'd already reached the hotel. _Fuck_ , what was he thinking, choosing someplace so centrally located and so close to the airport? "I know I'm no one, it's not a biggie. Anyway – we're here!" Without giving Castiel time to answer, Dean got hastily out of the car. Moving quickly, Castiel followed and rounded on him.

"You're _not_ no one," Castiel blurted to Dean's stiff back. Dean hauled the suitcase out and set it down with a clatter of plastic wheels on pavement, turning away without even looking at Castiel. "Stay with me, Dean!"

"Huh?" Dean froze, but didn't look back.

"Spend the night," insisted Castiel. "I mean, just the evening. I know you're working – I'll pay, I'll cover everything, I'd be happy to." The tension in Dean's back was obvious through his leather jacket, his shoulders growing more and more taut the longer Castiel spoke, but now that the words were coming there was no way that Castiel could stop them. "How much do you make in a night – a couple hundred dollars? I'll pay it! I just want to spend some time with you, I mean, if that's something you'd…" Dean rounded on him, brow furrowed, cheeks flushed, eyes narrowed and lips tight. "…want…"

"What do you think I am?" Dean asked with deadly calm. "Are you seriously offering me _money_ to spend the night with you? Wow. And here I thought…just, fucking _wow_ , Cas. I'm a taxi driver, not a fucking _whore_ , and I don't need your fucking money."

"Dean—"

"Call me anytime if you _need a ride_ ," snarled Dean, rounding and taking long strides to the driver's door. He pulled it open with a protesting squeak of hinges. "By which I mean _if you need me to drive you some place in my taxi_ , in case there was any fucking _ambiguity._ "

"Dean!"

Ignoring Castiel, Dean dropped into the car, jerked the door shut, and drove away. Alone on the curb save for curious passersby whose attention had been attracted by Dean's shouting, Castiel stood with a hand on his luggage, staring after the car and replaying their disastrous conversation in his head.

 _And here I thought…_

 _…_ _what had Dean been about to say earlier? What had Dean thought? How could I screw that up so incredibly badly?_

 _This was the worst idea I've ever had_.

* * *

For the umpteenth time, Castiel's hand crept towards his cell phone to text Dean, but he stopped himself. His instincts screamed for him to call and ask for a pick up to take him _anywhere_. It was the only opening he had. It was the worst damn idea. Despite what Dean had said, Castiel couldn't imagine Dean welcoming such a request, even though the two days that had passed presumably had given Dean time to cool his head.

 _Maybe he's reflected on what I said and realized what I meant, maybe he's thinking about me as much as I'm thinking about him, maybe he regrets what he said, maybe he spends as much time looking at his phone as I do, maybe he…_

 _…_ _maybe he's still furious and never wants to hear from me again_.

Castiel was exhausted. Despite his jetlag, sleep had been hard to come by. It was impossible to reflect on his words without feeling terrible. He'd always prided himself that he'd not become a stereotype of a celebrity, expecting others to recognize him, expecting others to kowtow to his whims, expecting money to solve his problems. Yet, confronted with the danger that Dean might reply "I'm sorry, I'm too busy, I'm not interested," Castiel's _immediate_ response, without even giving Dean a chance to express himself, was to offer Dean money. He'd done the same thing with the text messages, taking for granted that the expense would be a burden to Dean. It probably _was_ a burden for Dean, but that was for Dean to say. He knew Dean to be proud, hard working, diligent. When Castiel had been broke and determined, he'd never have accepted charity from someone like himself, and yet there he was, acting like money could solve every problem.

For the first time all day, he let his fingers curl around his phone, took it in hand, and typed out a text message.

 _Castiel (11:15 AM): I'm sorry._

There was no answer. Logical explanations presented themselves to explain why Dean didn't reply immediately – he might be driving, he might be asleep, he might have a few hours off, his phone might be dead – but Castiel was so down that the only reasons he could credit were the worst.

 _He doesn't want to talk to me_.

 _I can't blame him for that_. _I wouldn't want to talk to me either._

With a frustrated sigh, Castiel casually tossed the phone aside and changed into workout clothes. Exercise would take his mind off things and the day was perfect for a run. The first few minutes with nothing to distract him would be agonizing but once he got in the rhythm he'd be able to tune out all the extraneous noise in his head and maybe he'd finally exhaust himself enough that he'd get some sleep. Things would seem less bleak when he had rested.

Jogging was perfect. Castiel crossed a causeway to Miami Beach and ran along the boardwalk, the gorgeous sandy expanse crowded in the warm sunlight though few people swam. Time stretched out and his thoughts quieted until there was nothing but the pumping of his legs, the swinging of his arms, the working of his lungs. He lost track of how long he ran, paid little attention to how far, and when he reached the end of the boardwalk he turned around and went back. His body felt tireless, but slowly fatigue washed over his thoughts, and when he reached the causeway once more he decided it was time to head back.

The clock in his room read 1:36 when Castiel stumbled in, breathing hard and covered in sweat. All he wanted to do was collapse into bed but he forced himself to the bathroom instead and downed a few glasses of water before he gave in to his fatigue and passed out laying atop the blankets fully clothed and damp.

Consciousness returned abruptly to the ring of pounding on his door. It was a bit after 5, the light coming through the window showed that dusk was coming on, and Castiel needed to pee badly.

"Just a moment," Castiel called.

 _It's really late for housekeeping_.

Rolling off the bed, he hurried toward the bathroom but before he could get in there a gruff voice spoke loudly through the door. "Cas?"

Castiel froze. "Dean?" he breathed, too softly to carry. Spinning on a heel, he turned towards the door to his room and pulled it open. Dean stood there uncertainly, shoulders hunched, hands in his pockets, looking up and down the hall, at his feet, anywhere but at Castiel. "Dean!"

"Oh, you're fine," Dean said. "Okay, I'll just—"

"I'm sorry!" Castiel interrupted hastily, resisting the urge to throw his arms around Dean's neck and plant a kiss on his cheek. "I treated you like an object when I should have just asked _will you go on a date with me_. It was stupid and I feel terrible about it and I don't know what I was thinking but Dean – please – would you go out with me?"

There was a stunned silence during which Castiel scarce dared to breathe, and then Dean said, "Why?" It was Castiel's turn to be amazed. He couldn't find the words to answer, and when he didn't speak, Dean continued, "Why would someone like _you_ want to go out with someone like me?"

A dozen different questions vied to escape Castiel, but the one that won free was, "What do you mean, 'someone like me?' What kind of person do you think I am?"

"Talented? Rich? Smart? Famous? Fuckin' _gorgeous_?" Dean suggested. "Everything I'm not."

"Dean…" Castiel took a step back, ran a hand through his hair and realized they were still standing in his doorway. "Why don't you come in so we can talk about this? And, um, I have to use the facilities, if that's okay?"

Nodding, Dean stepped into the room and Castiel hastened to deal with his bladder. His reflection in the bathroom mirror was mortifying, his face streaked with lines of dried sweat, his cheeks dark with stubble, his hair a mess. His exercise clothes showed white salt stains and felt grainy against his skin. For a moment, he considered grabbing the bathrobe from the back of the bathroom door, but he pushed the idea away. Dean had already seen him – heck, if Dean had watched any of Castiel's movies he'd seen far worse – and the longer he lingered, the longer before they could finally talk and maybe, _maybe_ , find some of common ground.

Dean froze mid-step, pacing the length of the room, when the bathroom door clicked open. The room was dark and Dean stood in shadow; flicking the light switch, diffuse golden light spread over the dark, tasteful furniture and pale carpet.

"So," said Castiel.

"So."

"You really look at me and don't see anything except a celebrity?" Castiel asked skeptically. Dean shrugged, staring at the carpet, expression fixed in a way that screamed to Castiel that Dean's thoughts were going a million miles a minute even if he was keeping his mouth shut. "I find that impossible to believe, based on how you've treated me." Dean shrugged again, lips quirking into a wry, unhappy half-smile. "I'd really appreciate if you'd _talk to me_ , Dean. You're always so closed off, I have no idea what you're thinking. Am I wrong to think you wouldn't be here if you didn't…I don't know…if you weren't interested in me, if you didn't consider me a friend?"

"What do you want me to say, Cas?" Dean asked, voice rough and low. "None of this makes any fuckin' sense. Ya used my cab for two weeks even though you coulda had a limo or whatever. When you got home, you get kept texting me, but it was always bullshit stuff – the weather, or that you were busy, or asking what I thought of some song or something – like my opinion on any of that is worth a damn – and now you're here, and you…I don't even know what the fuck Tuesday was."

"It's not that complicated, Dean," said Castiel, frowning. "I consider you my friend. I like you, and I want you, and I was hoping we could grow to be more than friends. I came to Miami to see you."

"You…you came to Miami to see _me_?" Dean shook his head and turned away. "Wow. We're in different fucking universes, you know?"

Dean's words stung. Of all the people he knew, all the people he interacted with, Castiel had allowed himself to believe that Dean saw a man, not a star. Even if there was no attraction involved, Castiel had always thought that he shared a connection with Dean that wasn't founded on the premise that Castiel Novak was famous.

"My apologies," Castiel said, unable to keep the sorrow from his voice. "I read too much into things. It's a bad habit of mine. It has never been my intention to inconvenience you with my interest. If you do not reciprocate…" He shrugged uncomfortably even though Dean was facing away and couldn't see.

"Why…" Dean's shoulders hitched and there was a distinctive sound as he licked his lips. "You still haven't…I mean, seriously, _why_ , Cas? You're…you…and I'm…me…and you don't know shit about me, and…" There was no anger to the words. If anything, Dean sounded lost, vulnerable, young in a way belied by his appearance and his usual worldly, world-weary air. "No one wants me, Cas. _No one_."

The sorrow and loneliness in his voice was unmistakable. Hearing it hurt. Listening to him, Castiel felt like suddenly he understood a great deal that had seemed impenetrable before. Dean wasn't not interested, he was simply convinced that he was uninteresting, too depressed to put himself out there, so certain that he had nothing to offer that he didn't dare offer anything.

 _He's so much like me – so much like how I was_.

Footsteps silent on the carpeting, Castiel crossed to stand behind Dean and lay a gentle hand on the center of his back. Dean cringed.

"You're right, I don't know much about your history," Castiel said gently. "You don't know much about mine, either. But that doesn't mean I don't know about you. I know you like classic rock and you love to drive. I know you work tremendously hard, that you're proud, that you're determined. I know that you're smart and interesting and able to converse freely on a wide range of topics. I know that you're in a lot of pain but you push through to do the things that you need to do. I know that you love Led Zeppelin and the TV show MASH. I know that you've been there for me for the better part of a year even though I've had little to offer, that you haven't told me to leave you alone, that you've welcomed my friendship even as you've kept me at arms-length. I know that you are worth far more than you give yourself credit for. I know that, for all these reasons and many others, I find you attractive." Hesitantly, as he spoke, he splayed the hand over Dean's back, pressed with more force, carefully observed Dean's reaction. Though he could feel tension vibrating through Dean's body, Dean didn't move away. Encouraged, Castiel wrapped his arms around Dean loosely. Dean started but didn't fight the embrace.

"Cas…"

"Is this alright Dean? Is it alright if I care about you?"

"Cas." Dean breathed out and turned in Castiel's arms, lay a shaking hand on Castiel's cheek. This close, the couple inches difference in their height seemed greater than usual, and Castiel looked up into Dean's eyes, dark and haunting and flecked in gold. With his other hand, Dean reached up, brushed strands of Castiel's hair from his forehead, and Castiel felt a flash of shame as he recalled his disheveled state. Before he could act on his embarrassment, though, Dean leaned forward and brushed their lips together uncertainly. Pulling away, Dean waited, staring at Castiel intensely, and Castiel gave him an encouraging smile. Dean gave him a second kiss, tingling light pleasure through Castiel as he wrapped his arms around Dean more tightly, more confidently. Cupping his hands around Castiel's cheeks, trembling faintly, Dean kissed him again, again, light pecks, shifting his head to change the angle without pushing for anything more intense, and Castiel delightedly reciprocated. With a sigh, Dean's lips parted and Castiel followed his lead, making out open-mouthed, tongues flicking out skillfully to tease and pleasure, Dean's hands finally slipping down to wrap around Castiel and pull their bodies together. The way they molded together was perfect, hard chest to hard chest, shoulders nearly matched in broadness, strength meeting strength in the intensity of their embrace. The kisses grew more heated, more urgent, and then abruptly Dean shifted his head away, squeezed tightly around Castiel to hold him painfully near, pressed his lips to Castiel's ear.

"I thought you didn't want this," he whispered. "Sometimes, I wondered, but you always kept me distant, and I thought…I had no idea what to think."

"I'm sorry, Dean," Castiel mouthed the words indistinctly into Dean's neck, finally getting to taste the musky, leathery, salty tang of his skin. "It wasn't my intention to treat you distantly. I've wanted this – I've wanted you – since I left Miami the last time."

 _He's right._

"Me too," Dean breathed the words as a confession.

 _I didn't even think about it._

"I'm sorry about Tuesday, too," Castiel continued. Dean stiffened. "I don't know what I was thinking…no," he corrected himself. "That's not true. I'm sorry, Dean. This is hard for me. I wanted to see you, wanted to spend time with you, but I was worried that you'd say no because you were busy, because you were working. I realize now that I should have asked _Dean would you like to go on a date when you're available_ , but at the time I was too afraid to even ask you, and what I said…I gave completely the wrong idea."

 _He didn't tell me anything about himself, but I never told him anything about myself, either. Nothing real, anyway._

"Tonight?"

 _Why should he confide in me if I don't confide in him?_

"Huh?" Castiel asked blankly.

 _I was waiting to be sure he was interested, and because I almost lost my chance completely._

"I'm available tonight," said Dean. "If you'd still like to go on a date with me."

 _Thank God he still wants to try._

"That'd be great." Castiel sucked a kiss into the sensitive skin of Dean's neck, relishing his shudder. "Is it okay if I take a shower first?"

 _Thank God he likes me, too._

Dean laughed, a rich, throaty sound that warmed Castiel through, and he realized that he'd never heard Dean happy before, never heard him genuinely let himself go. Castiel hoped, prayed, that he'd get to hear that beautiful, uninhibited, joyous noise many times more in his life.

* * *

"Hey, Dean!"

"Dean!"

"Aww, Deanie babe!"

Dean shrugged off the greetings with gruff "hey's" and "how're you doin's."

"Usual, Dean?" the bartender called.

"Nope, not tonight," said Dean.

"Come on, El, you know Dean don't drink when he's got a date!"

"How'd _you_ know that, Ash? 's not like Dean ever has a date, much less brings them here!"

"Well, ya know, he and I, a few times..."

"That is a mental image I never wanted."

"Come on, ignore them," Dean muttered, steering Castiel towards a table in the back of the dimly lit dining area. They ended up in a booth with a sticky floor but a clean table and comfortable leather benchseats, and moments after they sat a waitress threw down two cardboard coasters and glasses of water. The woman, an attractive blonde, gave Dean a smile and gave Castiel a harshly appraising look that Castiel found strangely comforting. The people here didn't recognize him. When they looked at him, they saw "Dean's date," and judging by the woman's protective scowl, her concerns were all for her friend.

 _Yet he thinks nobody wants him, believes that nobody cares about him_.

"So, uh, I think everything here is good," said Dean uncomfortably. "I mean, it's all bar food and I'm sure it's nothing like what you're used to, but I think it's taste. I got pretty low standards."

"I can tell, you're out on a date with me," Castiel gave Dean a grin to make it clear he was kidding, but Dean flinched and wouldn't look. "This all sounds awesome. I was thinking cheeseburger." At least that brought a smile to Dean's face. They held silent until the waitress returned, they ordered, and then she left, the moment stretching out.

With a slow inhale, a slow exhale, Castiel gathered himself. He could think of no way to broach the topic of his own childhood, couldn't fathom asking Dean about his past unless he opened up about his own first.

 _Have I ever told someone about what happened to me, except when I absolutely had to?_

"So. Um. I wasn't always an actor," Castiel managed, forcing each word out. He thought of all the fraught scenes he'd done over the years, the scripts he'd read, the emotions he'd feigned for an audience, the things he'd confessed to that weren't real but that, through his actions and his projected emotions, he made those watching believe. "My father was a pastor and my mother was the epitome of a pastor's wife. I had four siblings." This part, he often shared. Those he'd grown friendly with, those he'd dated, those who interviewed him, they always wanted to know about his parents and his childhood, so he told them the part that was palatable. "We were pretty happy back then. Very religious. I was the second oldest, after my sister Anna, followed by Hester, Hannah and Rachel. The only boy." They didn't need to know the in-between years, the bad times; they were content to ask what had happened to his parents, how they felt about his acting career and his homosexuality, and he had his stock answers rehearsed to perfection. He had so much practice. It was just another performance.

This was nothing like that.

"My father disappeared when I was six. I never found out why or where he went." He never wanted to put on a performance for Dean. "After that, my mother became obsessed with the _holiness_ of our family. I didn't understand her behavior then and I've given up trying to understand it now. It's not like I can ask her about it, she died." _In jail._ "For a couple years, we maintained the appearance of a happy family while her behavior became increasingly outlandish and her treatment of us increasingly punitive. When our teachers finally figured out that asceticism had become part of her practice, Children's Protective Services became involved." Dean gave him a strange look, and Castiel grimaced. _Not a performance_. "By 'asceticism,' she meant self-deprivation and flagellation in pursuit of religious purity. Which is to say, starvation and beating." Dean's sympathetic look was inexplicably comforting, when in the past such looks had always angered him. "We never lived with her again. No one could be found to take five foster children, so Anna and I were sent to one home; Hester and Hannah to a second, and Rachel, who was still an infant, was on her own. The only one I've been able to keep in touch with was Anna." He'd tried to find the others, hoping his fame would help, but he had no luck. "We lived in eight homes in ten years. Anna left as soon as she could and she tried to take me with her but the courts wouldn't allow it, so I was on my own the last two years. By the time I was 18, I knew I wanted to be an actor, so I left to make my way. Took a few years, but I made it work."

It wasn't everything – it was so far from everything – but it was more than he'd said to anyone, ever, except for Dr. Shurley. By the time he feel silent, his heart was pounding, wondering how Dean would react. _Fifteen years of therapy, you'd think I'd be better at this_. Before Dean could say anything, the waitress returned with their hamburgers – they had ordered identically except that Dean had requested no pickles – set them down, and walked away.

"That sucks," said Dean, eating a French fry. "I'm sorry...I...I don't really know what else to say."

"That's okay," Castiel replied with a wan smile. "I wasn't looking for sympathy. I wanted you to know." He picked up his burger and took a bite. The wonderful, rich flavor of well-cooked beef flooded his mouth, the tang of cheddar cheese, the fresh snap of lettuce, and he chewed and stared at the perfect medium-rare in wonder. "This is _really_ good."

"Don't sound so surprised, Cas," Dean said, winking and taking a bite of his own. He moaned sinfully. With his mouth full, he said, "Man, I don't get this often, but I swear it's always even better than I remember."

They ate in relative silence, exchanging occasional comments on the food, on the restaurant, Dean pointing out the bar regulars in a way that made it clear that he was as much of a regular as they were. When they were done and the waitress – Jo, the owner's daughter – cleared away their plates, Dean folded his hands on the table before them and stared at his clenched fists, huffing out a breath.

"I was in the Air Force," Dean said abruptly. "A fucking lifetime ago. Desert Storm. It...wasn't good. I didn't really want to enlist but my dad, he was a marine and he raised my brother and I like soldiers. I left as soon as I could. Dad was an asshole, paranoid as fuck, always thought someone was after us. I couldn't take it anymore. He wanted me in the military anyway, so I knew he'd approve if I signed on, wouldn't think I was doing it to run away from him, but I was a coward then, stayed a coward throughout. Some things never change. Don't think my brother ever forgave me for it, he's younger than me. We exchange Christmas cards now. Fuck...I suck at this, I'm sayin' it all out of order. Anyway, uh, I left the military and came here. That's about it."

"PTSD?" asked Castiel, nervous to push for more, but Dean had said so little he couldn't but wonder.

"No, I'm just a useless idiot," Dean shrugged, expression wry, tone making it clear that he really believed that.

"Depression," Castiel corrected himself. "Can't the VA help with stuff like that? Get you therapy? Medicine, if you wanted?" Dean stared at his hands even harder, tight-eyed, mouth fixed in a narrow line.

"I...uh..." Dean's shoulders slumped. "I don't qualify for any of that." His eyes flicked up to meet Castiel's, dark and unreadable, and Castiel did his best to look non-judgmental, open, caring. _Not a performance. I really feel that way._ Dean rubbed one thumb hard against the back of his other hand and grimaced. "Dishonorable discharge," Dean admitted. "Can't access veteran's services with that hangin' over me." Castiel waited with an illusion of patience to see if Dean would reveal anything more, but despite appearing to struggle with himself, Dean kept silent.

"You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to," said Castiel. "Now or ever."

"Thanks, Cas. Uh..." Dean blew out explosively. "Yeah. So, um, did you really come to Miami to see me?"

"Yes, Dean," said Castiel. Quelling his nerves, he reached across the table, cupped his hand around Dean's clenched fists, used a finger to caress along the line that Dean had traced with his own thumb. "I'm here for no other reason than that I wanted to see you again."

"That's fuckin' crazy," muttered Dean.

"I've done my time in therapy, too," Castiel smiled. "I might be a bit crazy. That bother you?"

"No, Cas, I'm cool with that, if you're cool with...you know, me," Dean returned the smile hesitantly.

 _Dammit, I'm leaving on Sunday_.

* * *

On the drive back to the hotel, Castiel sat in the front seat for the first time. The meter wasn't running. They were just two men in a car, two men who'd been on a first date after a long time dancing around each other, two men who had a lot more in common than either of them would have thought. No, that wasn't right, Castiel reflected. He'd felt an affinity for Dean from the beginning, always suspected that the undercurrents of their lives would match. He'd always known that beneath Dean's genial exterior there were troubled waters fit to match the turbulence that Castiel never shared, channeled into his acting but didn't dare expose.

 _Until now_.

The taxi pulled up to the hotel.

"If you wanted to come up with me…" Castiel suggested hesitantly.

"Uh..." Dean stared at the dashboard of the car. "I don't think I can do that. Yet. Maybe...maybe some time." His eyes squeezed shut, shining with moisture. _Something happened to him. I don't know what, but something bad, something related to his discharge, I bet_. Reaching out, Castiel took the hand Dean yet had resting on the gear shift. Dean jerked his head up, gave Castiel a wide-eyed look.

"It's okay, Dean," said Castiel with the utmost sincerity. "I'm here two more days, if you've got time to meet again."

"I'd like that," Dean said shyly. He turned to Castiel, smiling, and leaned forward with the same nervousness, as if they hadn't kissed earlier, as if Dean could possibly be unsure that Castiel was interested in him physically as well as intellectually. Castiel mirrored Dean's movements and kissed him gently, gave Dean a moment to get used to the feeling, to reciprocate, and the contact lengthened, warmed him, left Castiel regretting that Dean wouldn't accompany him upstairs yet buzzed on anticipation for the future.

Urgent honking interrupted them. High beams illuminated the cab starkly and Dean started away from contact. "Uh, sorry, guess the cab is in the way. I gotta...well, you know."

"I'll get in touch tomorrow?" suggested Castiel.

"Yeah, that'd be—" More honking cut him off, and Dean grimaced. "See ya tomorrow, Cas."

"Good night, Dean."


	3. Chapter 3

The flight back to Vancouver was surprisingly agonizing. No. Leaving Dean behind was surprisingly agonizing. They'd spent Friday and Saturday together and met up on Sunday morning for breakfast before Dean drove Castiel to the airport. Judging by how tired Dean looked by the time they parted, Castiel had the guilty suspicion that Dean had been working while Castiel was asleep and spending time with Castiel while Castiel was awake. He didn't say anything, though. Whenever he felt tempted to, he reminded himself that Dean was an adult, that Dean could choose how best to handle his own affairs, that Dean had insisted on going dutch on the bar tab, that when Dean had a choice, he chose to spend time with Castiel. That was what mattered – that Dean wanted to meet with him even if he wasn't yet prepared to spend a night together.

In Vancouver, Castiel got into a generic cab with a driver who didn't recognize him and couldn't be bothered to care. The drive home was slow and boring and his return to his apartment after six weeks away was anticlimactic. It was empty. He was there infrequently enough that it had never grown to feel lived in. All his furniture was nice but unbroken in, the walls were pristine and bare. The only photograph in the whole house was one of Anna at her wedding, and there wasn't even a house plant to add a splash of green. Any plant would just die.

Life settled into a familiar rhythm as filming on _Angel Falls_ resumed. Castiel continued to text Dean and a few times a week they spoke on the phone. With the physical distance between them, their relationship didn't grow. The reticence that kept Dean – that kept both of them –from expressing confidences when they were face to face was impossible to overcome when they were a continent apart. The lack of progress would have made Castiel nervous save that they weren't regressing. Dean didn't pull back from him or avoid him, he simply didn't open up. When Castiel tentatively suggested that he was planning on visiting in June when they finished filming, Dean didn't say no, didn't suggest Castiel not waste his time. That, from Dean, was as good as enthusiastic excitement from someone else. Further, there was an ease to Dean after that. A tension in Dean's affect that Castiel hadn't consciously registered faded in the face of the implicit reassurance that Castiel wanted to see him again.

There had been a time when Castiel had been focused on wanting Dean physically. When they'd seen each other in January, that had been what Castiel had meant when he said he _wanted Dean_. The more he grew to know Dean, the more they spoke, the more he understand that when Dean replied that _no one wanted him_ , Dean had meant something completely different. Dean believed, truly, that no one wanted to have Dean in their life at all. Castiel wanted was to destroy that belief completely. He still wanted Dean physically, but more than that, he wanted Dean as a friend, as a companion, as someone to talk to. If they never were together, he thought he'd be alright with that. Dean was what had been missing from Castiel's life all along – someone with whom he could be _emotionally_ intimate.

Winter faded into spring, and spring edged towards summer, and day by day Castiel's anticipation grew that soon he'd be seeing Dean again.

 _Six weeks...just another month and a half..._

* * *

 _Dean (2:01 AM): How's filming going?_

 _Castiel (2:03 AM): I hope you didn't stay up just to ask me that._

 _Dean (2:04 AM): Naw man it's the fourth of July good night for late fares._

 _Castiel (2:05 AM): It's the fifth now._

 _Dean (2:05 AM): Bull, it's still the fourth until I go to sleep._

"Hey, aren't you that fag actor?"

Castiel looked up in the middle of typing. The streets were dark, nearly all the businesses closed. It was a couple miles between the set and his apartment, but when the weather was nice he liked to walk. It was good exercise and it helped clear his head; ensured that when he got home, he'd be able to sleep. A young man was pacing him, and now that he was paying attention, there were several others lurking around. He could feel their presence as an itch between his shoulders. For the first time in the years he'd been making this walk, he felt nervous. Without looking back to his screen, he flicked the send button, then ran his finger over "call" button, dialing Dean.

 _Castiel (2:06 AM): Filming was a disaster and took forever but we're finally done. I'm on my way h_

"Yeah – yeah, you're definitely him," said the man with a sneer. "You were in all those shitty movies – like that one where you died of AIDs?"

"Wish all you fuckers would die of AIDs," a rough voice, deep and frightening, spoke far too close behind him. Fear thrummed through Castiel. He slipped his phone into his pocket and prayed that Dean would find a way to get him help. At least the volume on his phone was low enough that the gang wouldn't be able to hear that Castiel had made a phone call.

"I'm sorry you feel that way," Castiel said diplomatically. _This is a performance. Act confident. Act unafraid. This may not be that bad. If I turn up ahead..._

As if sensing Castiel was planning an escape route, another man came to walk along his other side, fencing him in on both sides. The third was so close behind him that Castiel could feel his presence like a touch.

"Awww, he's sorry for _us_ , ain't that sweet?" said one young man.

 _No, this is bad, this is very bad_.

"Really _touching_ ," said the first. "You dicks come in, take all the jobs, try to convince us you're _normal_. Nothing _normal_ about being a fucking deviant."

The streets were dark and empty in this neighborhood, mostly residential buildings shut up tight for the night, the few business shuttered and closed. It was a safe neighborhood usually, not the kind of place that attracted random crimes, so he couldn't hope for a patrol to come by.

 _There's nothing random about this crime._

"I figure it's all a big conspiracy," said the rough voice behind him. "Fags infiltrate the media, put other fags in movies and TV and fuck all, try to convince us that it's not sick, fucked up shit. Meanwhile, you get fucking rich on the backs of fuckwits who don't know better."

 _There's nothing random about hate crimes. That's the whole point. Why didn't I wear a hat, why didn't I do something to cover my identity? I wasn't even thinking..._

" _We_ know better."

The kick to the back of his knee hurt like crazy, bone crunching, and his other leg gave out. Collapsing forward, Castiel grunted, steeled himself for the next blow. He'd been beaten before. He knew how this went. Hopefully, all they wanted to do was rough him up.

Hands seized each of his arms, a knee dug into his back, and a fourth man, tall and broad, was standing before him when Castiel lifted his head.

Hopefully, they wouldn't do any permanent harm.

The first blow to his face hurt the most, numbed him, left him dazed and disoriented enough that the second punch hardly registered, the third set his ears ringing, the fourth reduced the night to blobs of indistinct color and swirling motion that he could scarce interpret.

Hopefully, they would stick to attacking him physically rather than getting creative.

Belatedly, it occurred to him that he _could_ have fought back, he could have shouted, he could have tried to run for it, he could have done _anything_ other than let them get a hold of him.

Hopefully, Dean would get help.

After all the things that had happened to Castiel, it hadn't even crossed his mind to struggle. God, he was broken, so much more broken than he'd ever imagined. Each blow hurt in a distant way, as if someone else was being struck, someone else was bleeding, someone else was getting kicked, someone else was crying in pain.

Hopefully, no matter what happened, Dean would still care for him.

No. That, Castiel didn't have to worry about. After a year of friendship, he was sure that that no matter what happened, Dean wouldn't stop caring.

"Shit, really? Fuckin' cops?" snarled one of his attackers.

The sound of sirens pierced the rushing sound filling his head; shattered fragments of red and blue left him dizzy and disoriented. The hold on his arms went away, the knee grinding into his spine kicked him hard and then vanished. Castiel swooned, falling to his back on the sidewalk. A kick to his side doubled him over and he grunted, tasting blood.

 _Stop, mom, I didn't mean to, it won't happen again, I promise..._

 _...no, no, that was a long time ago, that's not my life, that hasn't been my life._

"Stop where you are!" bellowed a female voice. Castiel tried to freeze but everything hurt too much; he wrapped his arms around his middle and groaned.

"Run!"

"Fuckin' _faggots_!"

"You're under arrest!"

"Put your hands _up_."

 _Dean_.

Forcing himself to unbend, Castiel rolled onto his other side and pawed at his pocket. His hand shook around his phone. The screen was a brilliantly bright light in the darkness except were a dark crack split it, searing his blurred vision. He couldn't read a single word it said.

"Dean?" Castiel's voice came out as an unrecognizable reedy whisper. He could feel blood splattering on his lips.

"Cas?" Dean was frantic, terrified, and somehow still the most beautiful damn thing Castiel had ever heard. "Cas!"

" 'm okay, Dean." It hurt to hear Dean so scared, hurt to hear him so worried. Castiel had taken worse beatings, and the cops were there now. " 's okay."

"Sir, are you alright?"

"Fine...I'm fine..." mumbled Castiel.

"There's an ambulance on the way." Gentle hands changed Castiel's position, helped him lie more easily, attempted to take the phone away. "You can let your loved ones know what happened later. You have to stop talking now – you're bleeding into your mouth."

 _My loved ones...there are only two people I love...Anna and..._

"Fuck," Dean sounded like...did he really sound like he was crying? _No, don't worry Dean, please don't worry..._ "I'm...I'm so sorry, I can't be there, I...I...I fucking _hate this_. I'm coming, okay? I'm coming."

"Love you, Dean."

"Don't worry, sir, you're going to be fine." The officer got the phone from his hand and he whimpered. He could hear Dean calling to him just before the line went dead. Castiel coughed, blood catching in his throat, wetness smearing over his lip and chin. "It's going to hurt but we've got to get you on your side or else you might choke, okay?" The sound of more sirens filled the air as the officer rolled him over and he splattered the concrete with blood, black in the darkness. His stomach roiled nauseously.

 _Dean..._

Too dazed to keep track of what was going on around him, Castiel let people move him, touch him, treat him. He knew enough to recognize that he was safe now and couldn't bring himself to worry about anything else.

 _Dean is coming_.

Castiel didn't think he'd ever had a more comforting, reassuring thought in his life.

* * *

Weak light streamed through the Venetian blinds when Castiel opened his eyes. For an instant, he didn't know where he was or why he hurt, and then the previous evening returned to him. His hospital room was modestly appointed, walls painted white, a black blob mounted in one corner that he supposed was a television, a dark void across from him suggesting a second room that he assumed was a bathroom. A steady beep echoed Castiel's heartbeat. Everything was out of focus, one of his eyes swollen shut, the other blurred for no reason he could think of. His face hurt, his sides hurt, his leg was numb, and he had no idea how long had passed or what had happened in the meantime. His eyes slipped shut.

When they opened again, the light in the room was significantly brighter and a nurse was adjusting something beside him.

"Hello," Castiel said experimentally. The word came out as two broken syllables, hardly understandable, but the nurse stopped what he was doing and turned to Castiel with a smile.

"How are you feeling, Mr. Novak?"

"Like I..." he licked his lips, grimacing at the taste of blood. "Like I got punched in the face."

"That you did, but don't worry – you're going to be fine!" said the nurse. "I'll send in the doctor, she'll talk to you about your injuries, what steps were taken, and what your next steps are."

"Where's my cell phone?" he asked, thoughts still on Dean.

"Sorry – didn't catch that," apologized the nurse.

"Phone?" he tried again.

"Oh, it's right here – and yes, you're allowed to use it," the man explained, passing Castiel the phone. He took it. Not until he held it up did he realize it was useless. He couldn't read the screen.

"Help me?" he asked. The nurse stopped futzing with Castiel's medical leads and turned to him. "I can't read it. Are there any texts from Dean?" The only intelligible words were "text" and "Dean," but the nurse seemed to get the idea. He took the phone, flicked over the screen a few times, and nodded.

"Dean? Yeah. He wants to know if you're alright, and he says that he's on his way."

"That's impossible," mumbled Castiel, quelling the hope that flared in his breast. "Could you text him for me? Tell him I'm fine and I'm awake?"

"Sure thing," the nurse replied, fingers flying as a brown blur. "No one's come to visit, I'm sorry to say, even though this is hours old."

"He's not coming," Castiel said. "Even if he did, it'd be days."

 _How long does it take to drive from Miami to Vancouver?_

* * *

"If you can sign here?" asked the discharge administrator. Castiel nodded and immediately wished he hadn't. It was mid-afternoon, and Castiel found it impossible to believe that he'd only been in the hospital for ten hours, but none of his injuries were severe. His knee was the worst, but what treatment could be done had been. It was a clean break. He didn't want to be in a sterile hospital room alone any longer and he was capable of taking care of himself, though he wouldn't be walking anywhere alone for the foreseeable future. Concentrating, Castiel got his monocular vision to focus, picked up the pen and signed his name on the dotted line. He was a free man. An aching, lonely, frightened, bruised free man.

Outside, a security guard flagged a taxi down for him and Castiel settled gratefully into the backseat. He was going to go home and sleep for a week. He'd already had a talk with Jody, she was contacting the show's producers, making sure they knew that Castiel would be unavailable for a few days and that some scripts might need to be edited to reflect his knee injury, since he'd be in the brace for at least six weeks and would need physical therapy after that. There was nothing for him to do but go home, order some take out, and go to sleep. Everything would hurt less the next day.

 _Well, that's bullshit, and you know it._

Everything would hurt more the next day, but there was no help for it. Staying in the hospital certainly wouldn't have made a difference.

As the taxi pulled into traffic, Castiel's phone vibrated. He'd not had a text from Dean all day and he'd taken it to mean that Dean was driving. It made him nervous. It was such a long trip, much too long for Dean to do alone and worried. Or maybe all of that was wishful thinking – maybe Dean was just unavailable.

 _Dean (4:26 PM): Are you still at the hospital? What's your address?_

Typing out his answer was slow and difficult; his vision was still poor enough that the letters of the keyboard were hard to read and he kept having to go back, correct typos and fix the ridiculous things that auto-correct came up with.

 _Castiel (4:28 PM): You're not texting and driving, are you?_

Traffic was heavy even on the city streets, the cab hardly advancing even when the light changed. The air was filled with the sound of honking. Castiel's head hurt.

 _Dean (4:28 PM): No._

 _Dean (4:30 PM): I'm at the airport_.

 _Castiel (4:30 PM): What?_

 _Dean (4:31 PM): In Vancouver. I'm at the airport in Vancouver._

"Driver, take me to the airport," Castiel said. The swelling in his mouth had gone down, his voice was low and rough but understandable. He had a bottle of pills he was supposed to take every few hours to ensure that the swelling stayed down, a prescription for painkillers that he had no idea how he was going to get to the drugstore to fill, and a brace that kept his right leg uncomfortably straight.

"That's in the opposite direction," complained the cabbie.

"Just do it!"

Grumbling, the cab took the next turn. At least the traffic wasn't so bad going the other way.

 _Castiel (4:33 PM): I'm coming to get you._

 _Dean (4:34 PM): No!_

 _Dean (4:34 PM): Don't do that._

 _Dean (4:35 PM): You should be resting. I can take the train to wherever you are._

 _Castiel (4:36 PM): I am already in a taxi. I was on my way home from the hospital when you text. We'll be there in 20 minutes._

 _Dean (4:37 PM): You don't have to do that._

 _Castiel (4:38 PM): You didn't have to fly to Vancouver._

There was no answer. The taxi made good time, the short distance clicking by as the meter ran up, and Castiel tried not to get too excited. Quick breaths hurt his bruised chest. At least none of his ribs were broken.

 _Castiel (4:45 PM): What terminal are you at?_

 _Dean (4:46 PM): Air Canada._

"We're going to the Air Canada terminal," Castiel told the driver.

Tension built in his chest over the remaining minutes, and then they were pulling down the main road into the airport, they were driving past the terminals, they were pulling up to the arrivals area of the Air Canada terminal, and—

"There!" Castiel said abruptly, catching sight of a familiar leather jacket and brown spiked hair. "That's who we're getting."

The cab stopped with a shriek of rubber on pavement, braking hard enough that Castiel grunted in pain as he jerked forward against his seatbelt. Dean jumped, looking nervous. He didn't even have a suitcase. He must have gotten on the first flight out of Miami.

 _Good God, how much must that have cost?_

The tension melted from Dean's face as he saw Castiel through the window. Leaning down, he pulled the door open.

"You look like shit," Dean joked. Tears filled Castiel's eyes. It was so good to see him, so good to hear him. He couldn't find any words, too much emotion choked him. Dean slouched into the backseat beside him and Castiel immediately melted against him, wrapping an arm around Dean's chest, ignoring the pain it caused Castiel.

"I'm so glad you're here," whispered Castiel. An arm wrapped around Castiel's back, urged him closer, held him tenderly. _So warm. So strong. God, I missed him_. _It's like a piece of me was gone and I didn't even realize it until he came._

"You're okay, Cas," Dean murmured reassuringly, gently rubbing down Castiel's back. "I've never been so damn scared in my whole life. But you're okay."

"Hey, meter's running," snapped the cab driver angrily.

"Where we goin'?" asked Dean.

"Home," Castiel answered. Raising his voice loud enough for the driver to hear, he repeated, "take us home."

* * *

Dean took care of everything that evening. He got Castiel into bed, got him comfortable, helped him take a shower, ordered food, helped Castiel eat.

That night, when Dean suggested it would be most appropriate that he sleep on the couch, Castiel felt bad about the pleading look that twisted his features and twinged pain through his face. He stood in his pajamas in his bedroom doorway, after Dean had helped Castiel get cleaned up, helped him dress, helped him get his brace back on, helped him limp all over the apartment. Castiel caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, black and blue and swollen, one eye completely covered by puffy, dark flesh. He knew he was a sight, that anyone with a heart wouldn't be able to turn him down as he glanced an invitation towards his large, comfortable bed. The last thing he wanted was to guilt-trip Dean, especially after everything Dean had done for him that day.

 _He looks exhausted. It was 5 AM in Miami when I was texting him and he hadn't gone to bed yet because of Independence Day, and he flew here – despite his fear of doing so. He didn't even go home long enough to pack a bag. He's been by my side this entire day, and now I'm asking even more of him._

Castiel couldn't help it. The thought of Dean even so far away as the living room made his stomach twist.

 _Ridiculous. I've lived without him for 44 years. I can live with him in the other room._

 _Yes, I can, but I don't want to._

"I'm sorry," Castiel mumbled. His lips were swelling again, irritated by when he had eaten and by the talking he'd done. Once again, he was incomprehensible. If Dean understood, he didn't respond. Castiel hobbled into the room, hoping that Dean would understand his intentions and sleep wherever he was most comfortable. When Dean followed him into the bedroom, Castiel couldn't help but feel he'd forced him.

"I, uh, I didn't bring anything to sleep in," Dean said awkwardly. Gesturing invitation, Castiel pulled open the drawer where he kept loose, comfortable pant and worn old shirts. After a moment's hesitation, Dean went to the drawer and pulled an outfit out. Another moment's hesitation, and he stripped.

It was impossible not to stare. Even though Dean kept his boxers on, he was still a delicious sight, flat-chested with clear signs that he'd once been in great shape and now did enough to keep himself up. Judging by how lean he was and how every inch of him was tanned, Castiel thought he must be a swimmer. It was a cheap, easy way to stay in shape in a place like Miami.

 _If he were to stay with me, we'd have to find a pool for him to use in Vancouver_.

Castiel forced himself to look away. It wasn't fair to stare and it definitely wasn't reasonable for Castiel to start making plans with the hope that Dean would stay. By the time Castiel settled laboriously into his bed, Dean had changed into the new outfit – it fit him differently than it fit Castiel, bared his legs to the ankle and stretched taught over his shoulders – but it did fit him. Expression unreadable, Dean climbed into the bed and sat, leaning against the headboard, taking breaths that were obviously controlled.

"Don't worry, Cas," Dean said suddenly, before Castiel could suggest that he leave. "I just need a minute, okay? It's been a long time." He took another breath. "It's been a really long time." Another breath. "Honestly? It's been _never_. Not that I'm a virgin or anything, and I've dated plenty, but I'm not the guy that men ask to spend the night." A brush of fingers on his fingers drew Castiel's attention; Dean hesitated and then wrapped his hand around Castiel's.

"Thank you."

"Get some rest," said Dean, gaining confidence. He threaded his fingers through Castiel's, rubbed a thumb soothingly against Castiel's palm. "I'll be here in the morning. I promise."

Laying back, Castiel closed his eyes, but sleep was a long time in coming. He'd spent much of the day at the hospital asleep, and though he was tired, he found it hard to drift off. Nevertheless, he lay still, let his breathing go even, let his body relax. Dean never released his hand, and after a well he felt the bed shift minutely, felt Dean slide down and lie beside him, felt warmth as Dean lay near Castiel's back. Hoping to encourage Dean, he took their joined hands, lay them on his waist, tried not to wince as his bruises ached. Dean didn't say anything, didn't flinch, didn't pull away. As the night grew later, Dean drew closer until finally he sighed against Castiel's back, wrapped their paired hands over Castiel's stomach. Dean was warm and solid behind him and tension that Castiel hadn't even realized he carried drained from his shoulders. He was safe here, safe with Dean, and despite how much his body hurt, he felt great.

When Castiel woke up, the morning was sunny and bright, his face and leg hurt, and Dean was twitching against him, clutching him close and murmuring inarticulate distress against the back of his neck.

"It's okay," Castiel murmured soothingly. His voice was a mess, his jaw and lips achy and unresponsive, the words not understandable. The tone must have communicated, or perhaps his gentle touch against Dean's hand spoke louder, for Dean's mumbling quieted and he went still.

 _I need to get up and get pain killers, I could put on some coffee, I could even make him breakfast. I bet I can stand._

How would Dean feel if he woke up and Castiel wasn't there?

 _"I'll be here in the morning_. _"_

That was the last thing Dean had said before they'd gone to bed, and Castiel felt just the same. He'd be there when Dean woke up. He'd be there as long as Dean needed him to be.

Castiel felt when Dean woke up, tensed, started to draw away. Though it hurt, Castiel snuggled back against to him, trying with body language to reassure Dean. He sighed happily when it worked, when Dean slumped into Castiel's back and held him like he was precious.

"I'm so glad you're alright," Dean whispered. "I don't know why, but I know I can't do this without you. I don't want to do this without you."

"Do what, Dean?" asked Castiel.

"Live," Dean breathed. "I need you, Cas. I _need_ you."

"You have me," Castiel replied, drawing Dean's hand up, gently kissing the back of Dean's hand. "And I've got you."

* * *

"Is this okay, Dean?"

Two months had passed since Dean came to Vancouver.

"Yeah, Cas – yeah, this is okay, this is good."

Castiel was fully healed.

"You know you don't have to—"

Those first couple weeks would have been awful without Dean there. The media showed up less than 24 hours after Castiel got out of the hospital. With them determined to make the attack international news, Castiel's privacy vanished. Jody did what she could to keep them at bay, but when they swarmed his sidewalk, when they knocked on his door, it was Dean who drove them away, Dean who made sure that Castiel was taken care of and fed, Dean who filled his prescriptions and took him to the his doctors appointments, Dean who held his hand while he recounted the attack for the police and looked at suspect line ups and spoke to an attorney, Dean he drove him to the studio when they finally started filming again.

"Yeah, I know, and I appreciate it. I want to. With you, I want to."

Since Castiel and Dean wouldn't give the press any real information, since his agent was stonewalling them and the studio wasn't interested, the journalists had dug up what little they _could_ find. Since they couldn't get an interview, they'd settle for the juicy secret romance that, they assumed, was reflected by Dean's presence in Vancouver. Dean's story hit the press two days after the attack.

"I'm glad. God, I want you so much, Dean. In every possible way."

Castiel wouldn't have seen the articles if Jody hadn't e-mailed him the link. She was worried about Castiel, worried that he was getting involved with a potentially dangerous alcoholic veteran suffering from PTSD, worried because Dean's dishonorable discharge had taken place because he violently assaulted his commanding officer. He'd nearly killed Gordon Walker. What Jody didn't mention – but the article went into lavish detail on – was _why_ Dean beat the man up. It was too perfect an angle.

"Christ, that feels good, Cas – that feels _so damn good_."

A famous actor was hospitalized after being the victim of a hate crime. 20 years before, the actor's mysterious boyfriend had also been a victim of sexuality-related discrimination and abuse. The part that sickened Castiel about it the most was that, based on what the newspapers reported, everyone around Dean at the time knew what was happening to him. Everyone in his unit knew that Walker was blackmailing him, knew that Walker was beating him, knew that Walker was raping him, knew that Walker was selling Dean's body for his own profit. Everyone knew that Dean was powerless to say anything in his own defense, that there was no way that he could reveal himself without the military learning that he was gay, that if he reported the crimes he'd get no help, there'd be no consequences for Walker, and Dean would be kicked out of the air force and denied his pension because of his sexual orientation. Men that Dean had fought alongside, that he'd risked his life to protect, that he had nearly died for, wouldn't even speak up to try to help him. They'd let it happen. When Dean finally broke, when Dean finally responded to the violent attacks on his person with a violent attack of his own, that was somehow his fault. Walker got a promotion and Dean was kicked out of the Air Force and left with absolutely nothing. The newspapers quoted the contrition of Dean's comrades now, twenty years after the fact, but there words were as hollow as their actions had proved to be.

"I've got you, Dean. I've got you and I'm going to take care of you, okay?"

No wonder Dean hurt so much.

Dean clung to him, shaking, as Castiel slowly lowered himself, slowly pushed Dean's hard, gorgeous cock deeper into his body. Breathing hard, delighting in the stretch and burn of penetration, Castiel wrapped his arms more tightly around Dean's neck. Dean's fingers curled around Castiel's shoulders, his face pressed into the curve of Castiel's neck, and he groaned, holding Castiel down around him. Their chests were so close that Castiel could feel the pounding of Dean's heart, feel the heave of every desperate inhalation.

There was so much that Castiel wanted to say but the time for words was passed. The nerves brought about by his first time with a new partner faded away, the tension drained from as he saw that Dean really was alright, and he adjusted himself, embedded Dean even more deeply within his body. He loved the low rumble of pleasure in Dean's chest that vibrated through both their bodies. Lifting himself, ignoring the burst of discomfort from his mostly-recovered knee, Castiel pivoted his hips and drove Dean back into him. Dean's cock passed over his prostate, pressure exquisite, and they moaned simultaneously. He took it slow the first few strokes, picking up the pace as they both grew more uncomfortable and as the drive to heighten his pleasure grew increasingly undeniable. Heat grew in Castiel's gut, ached through his cock where it rubbed inadequately against the skin of their bellies.

"Need you," whispered Dean, body undulating in time to Castiel's thrusts, deepening each one, amplifying each one. _So warm. So strong._ "I need you, Cas."

"I know, Dean," Castiel replied. One of Dean's hands finally left his shoulder, slipped between them, wrapped around Castiel's cock and stroked him gently. "I need you, too." _I love you, too._ Though Dean's touch was light, it was electric, and Castiel threw his head back, groaning as he thrust his body hard onto Dean's cock. The hand around him stuttered, squeezed, forced another groan from Castiel as choked noises died in Dean's throat. Every twitch of Dean's body spoke to how close he was, and Castiel felt the moment Dean came, the moment he released. Dean's tears dampened Castiel's shoulder as his come slicked Castiel's insides; the hand he had around Castiel's arm dug into the flesh bruisingly hard, but Dean's grip on Castiel's cock stayed tender, and to that sweet touch Castiel tumbled over, followed Dean into bliss, streaked white stripes over Dean's tanned abdomen.

Neither moved for a long time, breathing hard, holding each other close as Dean softened within Castiel's body.

"I don't want to leave, Cas," confessed Dean.

There were only four months left on Dean's visa. The question of _what came next_ loomed in the background of everything they did, but neither had wanted to broach it while Castiel was healing. Neither had wanted to broach it as they delicately navigated their relationship, tried to figure out what they were to each other – friends or acquaintances or boyfriends or platonic life partners or lovers or something else entirely. With this culminating act, so caring, so _loving_ , that at least was settled, which only left the burning question of where they would live, what they would do, how they'd navigate the distance between their homes.

"Then never leave," Castiel whispered, petting a hand through Dean's hair. "Never leave me."

"As long as you want me, I never will," breathed Dean. "My heart – my Castiel."

"I love you, Dean."

Dean's only answer was to mouth a kiss in the hollow of Castiel's throat, but it was alright. Castiel didn't need to hear the words to know that Dean loved him, it was obvious in everything that Dean did.

* * *

"Shh, shh, I've got you," Castiel murmured reassuringly in Dean's ear. No matter how many times Castiel saw Dean upset, it never ceased to be unnerving. Dean was so strong most of the time, such a solid presence in Castiel's life, that feeling him shake apart inevitably left Castiel feeling as if there wasn't a single haven of safety in the whole world. In those moments, Castiel understood profoundly that _he_ had to be that bastion. Dean did as much as he could to protect Castiel, shielding him from the media, dealing with the hated publicity that inevitably accompanied dating a celebrity, working to ensure that, despite the attack, Castiel always felt safe. Doing those kinds of things didn't hurt Dean. He didn't necessarily enjoy them, but they didn't pain him. Castiel wrapped his arms around Dean more tightly, held him close, felt Dean's tears damp against his skin. Dreams hurt Dean. Facing his past hurt Dean. And what they were doing now? This _terrified_ Dean, so much so that Castiel couldn't fathom why Dean was going through with it.

"We don't have to do this," Castiel said for at least the fiftieth time. "We _never_ have to do this."

"You want to, right?" asked Dean hoarsely.

"Yes, but—"

"I want to, too," Dean interrupted. "Please, Cas. Don't give up on me."

"Never, Dean," Castiel breathed, carding his fingers gently through Dean's hair. "Are you ready?"

A shudder tensed Dean's entire body, but he nodded against Castiel's chest. Trying not to absorb Dean's nerves, Castiel sat up and retrieved the bottle of lube. Dean lay spread out beneath him, vulnerable, splayed out on the dark sheets of the bed in Castiel's Miami apartment. As Castiel squeezed liquid onto his hand, Dean's hands found the blankets and balled into fists clutching at them, his legs twitched as he resisted the urge to close them and protect himself, his eyes squeezed shut, his freckled face streaked red from crying, his cock completely flaccid.

 _I feel like I'm the one who has attacked him and hurt him. Forget if he's ready…faced with his distress, can I do this?_

"Just do it, Cas," Dean muttered, faint strains of anger coming off as plaintive. Bending his legs at the knees, Dean trembled with the effort of spreading himself wider, pivoting his hips to show the glisten of moisture at his already-prepped hole.

"Dean," said Castiel, deeply troubled, as the lube pooled and warmed in his hand. "I—"

Dean's eyes flashed open, green and gold appearing nearly black in the dimly lit bedroom, and met Castiel's gaze. " _Please_."

Castiel sighed, wrapped his hand around his flagging erection, gave himself a few revitalizing strokes and smearing himself amply with lubricant. "Try to relax, okay?" That earned him a scowl which normally would have deterred him but now offered reassurance. If Dean could still get annoyed at that statement, maybe he truly wasn't too upset to try this.

Taking up a position between Dean's legs, Castiel leaned on one elbow and gave Dean a gentle kiss as he used his other hand to line himself up. He pressed forward, but there was no give to Dean's body at all. Frowning, he ran a thumb over Dean's hole and confirmed that he was positioned correctly; Dean shivered and whimpered and spread his legs wider. This had been a long time in coming, months of conversations starting from the first time Dean admitted that he wanted to try to be a bottom. They'd experimented with gentle fingering, slowly worked Dean to the point that he could bring himself to spread his legs at all. Castiel never mentioned to Dean that he had scars around his hole, ragged white lines even more pale than the surrounding flesh that made it horrifically clear how violent the attacks on Dean had been. Just thinking about it made Castiel sick. His cock started to go limp. Shifting, Castiel pressed the head of his cock to Dean once again, trying to keep himself calm, trying to maintain his arousal despite all the pain and anguish he couldn't ignore.

 _He wants this – with me, he wants this, and God, I DO want it to, but it's so difficult like this…_

Thinking about being inside Dean had brought Castiel to his knees in the shower more times than he could count. During the long stretches when they were apart, when Castiel was working in Vancouver and Dean was insisting on his self-sufficiency by continuing to drive a cab in Miami, Castiel had dreamed of this moment, dreamed of Dean wanting this, and moaned to unfeeling walls as he stroked himself. In those dreams, though, Dean wasn't shaking and crying, Dean wasn't so tight and clenched that Castiel's slickened head slid down his crack without penetrating in the slightest.

"Come on already," snapped Dean.

"I can't, Dean," Castiel said, resting his forehead on Dean's chest. "It's not going to work like this."

"But—"

"If I _force you_ , I will _hurt you_ ," said Castiel. Dean groaned, the word _no_ brokenly leaking from him, fear and pain that finished the job of softening Castiel completely. Letting his cock go, Castiel lay hard atop Dean's body and offered him a reassuring kiss, but reciprocating seemed beyond Dean.

"I'm sorry," Dean whispered. "I tried…I'm trying…"

"I know you are," Castiel mouthed reassuringly against Dean's tear-dampened cheek. "It's alright. We both knew this wouldn't be easy. I'm not ready to give up, if you want to keep trying."

"Now?"

Startled, Castiel leaned up enough to get a view of Dean's face, unable to fathom the hope and desire and desperation communicated clearly in that single word. Bright eyed and flushed, Dean looked at him with such longing, such _trust_ , that tears pooled in Castiel's eyes.

"Alright," Castiel said hesitantly. An idea came to him. "Sure, we can keep going. Will you roll over for me?"

"No," exclaimed Dean, a hint of panic in his voice. "Face to face, we talked about this – Cas, you know I can't—!"

"Hey, look at me," Castiel murmured. Dean snapped his mouth shut with a click and met Castiel's gaze, grimacing. "I will take care of you. I will never hurt you. I haven't forgotten what we discussed. I need you to trust me, okay?" Reluctantly, Dean nodded. Castiel shifted to kneel beside him and Dean rolled over onto his stomach, cradling his head with his hands. "You're really tense, Dean, so I'm going to try to help you relax. If it's alright with you, I'm going to straddle your hips and give you a massage. I won't do anything sexual with you in this position unless you ask me to. Okay?"

"Yeah," breathed Dean, easing against the mattress. "Yeah, that's okay."

True to his word, Castiel knelt over Dean's back, keeping his weight on his legs, curled his hands around Dean's shoulders. Sensitive to Dean's tension, Castiel started gently, rubbing and kneading. With a progression of sighs and twitches, Dean slowly relaxed under Castiel's attention. It was glorious to feel the way Dean eased, flesh hot under Castiel's touch, body increasingly pliant. The sounds he made grew increasingly vocal, more and more like moans, and as Dean was comforted, heat began to pool in Castiel's body again. Castiel worked his hands down Dean's back, shifting so he could run his fingers over the beautiful curve of Dean's spine, the swell of his ass. When Castiel's caresses inadvertently caused the skin along Dean's crack to stretch, his pucker to open slightly, Dean moaned loudly and Castiel bit back an echoing groan, his cock twitching and hardening. Hands that had once gripped the blankets white knuckled now flailed and found Castiel's knees, rubbing at him, subtly urging him on. Before the temptation could grow too great, Castiel forced his hands back up Dean's back, reveled in Dean's disappointed whimper.

"Cas…"

Rubbing repetitively over Dean's shoulder blades, Castiel leaned down and mouthed a line of kisses over the curve of Dean's neck, sucked on the sensitive skin behind Dean's ear. Dean bucked beneath him, lifted his hips suggestively, caused Castiel's balls and erection to slap on the skin of Dean's lower back.

"On your back, Dean," breathed Castiel, raising himself up high on his knees to give Dean room to maneuver. Dean obeyed instantly, revealing his flushed cheeks, his taut nipples, his stiff cock. Dean's hands came to rest on Castiel's hips, thumbs rubbing at the line of Castiel's thighs. Castiel leaned close to exchange fevered kisses with Dean and resisted the urge to praise Dean, to call him beautiful, to say how much he loved Dean. Dean was finally calm and Castiel didn't want to take any chances that he might say something that would cause Dean to come crashing down to earth. Instead, he gripped Dean's shoulders tight and rolled his palms against them. His mouth left Dean's soft lips, kissed along the perfect curve of his chin and down his neck, scattered kisses over his shoulder blades and down his chest, took long minutes to suck and tease and savor each of Dean's sensitive nipples. Dean's hands slid up Castiel's back to hold him close and he arched into every contact, writhing against the mattress and leaking irresistible sounds. Castiel's cock rested hard against Dean's belly, Dean's erection pressed into the line of Castiel's thigh, and without conscious thought Castiel rolled his hips gently into the contact, giving them both tantalizing hints of friction. Desire flared hot through Castiel's body, a longing to feel tight heat around his cock for the first time in years, a yearning to embed himself in Dean and savor the feeling of Dean rising higher and higher on the pleasure.

 _I need him to want this too, need him to enjoy this, need him to crave it_ , _need him to feel safe and adored and soothed and cared for._

The thought was all that kept Castiel moving slowly and deliberately, all that kept him teasing and distracting Dean instead of forcing Dean's legs apart and filling him completely. Castiel's tongue flicked over Dean's nipple again, eliciting a groan, and Dean thrust his hips ineffectually against Castiel's thigh.

"Cas," Dean panted, "come on, man – please!"

 _Are you sure, Dean? Are you ready, Dean?_ Normally, Castiel would have checked before doing anything, but a tightness in his chest kept him silent, worried that even asking the question would bring back Dean's fear, so instead he heeded the pleading tone of Dean's voice and the urgent importuning evident in every movement Dean made. Kissing down Dean's body, Castiel moved, discovered that at some point Dean had spread his legs wide, and found a comfortable position nestled between them. As soon as Castiel's weight settled into place Dean's legs were around his hips. Dean rutted against him, rubbing Castiel's cock over the smooth flesh behind Dean's balls, butting Castiel's leaking tip over the base of Dean's erection.

"Dean," ground out Castiel, voice low and guttural. "Want you – want you _so damn much_."

Dean's fingers tensed against Castiel's hips, eased, tensed again, and Dean's body strained towards contact with Castiel, strained towards Castiel's rolling hips. "I trust you, Cas," Dean whispered. "Please – please…"

Dean never said he loved Castiel, but what he said instead meant so much more in light of all Dean had been through – and meant so much more in light of Castiel's own life, when _I love you_ was thrown around by foster parents who scarce knew him, was expected in return as a show of unearned, false gratitude. _I trust you. I need you. I want to be with you_. Every time Dean said such things was sincere and cherished and never failed to fire hot desire through Castiel's soul. Fumbling across the mattress, Castiel found the discarded lube bottle, squeezed a dollop into his hand, and drew back from Dean only enough to quickly coat his cock with slick. He was back in an instant, leaning close over Dean, lining himself up, and where before Dean was clenched impossibly tight, now there was give, now the head of Castiel's cock slowly stretched Dean's pucker, slowly breached him. Castiel's eyes slipped shut in bliss as Dean gasped and scrambled at Castiel's hips, his waist, his chest. Broken sounds – Castiel's name, pleas to God, shock and surprise – streamed from Dean's lips. The tightness of it, the wetness, the heat, was almost enough to drive Castiel crazy, and only a sudden clench around him kept him from thrusting all the way in and taking what he'd craved so long. Castiel forced his eyes open.

Dean lay spread beneath him, still vulnerable, still beautiful, his lip caught between his teeth, a sheen of sweat coating his sun-darkened skin. Hints of fear left him wide-eyed and staring at Castiel.

"Is this—" Castiel groaned as Dean's muscles flexed around him. "Are you okay, Dean?"

"I need a minute," Dean whispered. "Can you give me a minute?"

With those simple words, Castiel felt his calm and self-control return. The fire of longing and need yet burned in him, but the flames dimmed, the urgency faded. Castiel slotted their bodies together, kissed Dean tenderly and replied, "Whatever you need – however long you need – all you need to do is ask." Dean's arms wrapped around him, Dean shifted beneath him to bring their lips together, and they made out lazily as Castiel waited, half-buried in Dean's body. Time ceased to mean anything as Castiel watched Dean's eyes slip shut, as Castiel let his own close and the world became darkness and bliss. It might have been a minute or an hour, it didn't matter, all that was important was Dean's mouth on his and the way Dean's body slowly gave beneath him, the way Dean's legs gradually tightened around Castiel's hips and urged him forward, the way Castiel sank deeper into Dean while hardly realizing what he did. After a lifetime, Castiel's hips came to rest against Dean's thighs, his cock embedded deeply in Dean's gorgeous body. With as much slow care, Castiel drew back again, their lips never parting, their kisses never stopping, and to that gentle, unhurried rhythm, they made love. The friction of every stroke forced breathy moans from Castiel, left him high on sensation and drunk on passion and even more hopelessly in love than he'd been since the day Dean came into his life. Dean's cock rubbed between their rutting bodies and whimpers died in his throat as he kissed Castiel with increasing desperation and refused to ease his embrace, his hips shifting to meet Castiel's on every stroke.

"Oh God," breathed Dean. Blinking his eyes open, Castiel took in a passion-blurred vision of Dean, face streaked with sweat, eyes closed, head straining back against the bed. "Cas, I—" Dean's hands shifted, trailed down Castiel's body to cradle his ass and press Castiel into him insistently. With a groan, Castiel snapped his hips forward and was enveloped in noise, both of them voicing bliss as one. Unable to resist, Castiel drew back slightly and thrust in sharply, skin slapping against skin each time he bottomed out.

"Is this what you wanted?" Castiel managed.

"So good," whispered Dean reverentially. "Dreamed of this, but I never imagined—" He broke into a groan. "Never imagined—" Another thrust, and another groan, and Castiel knew he was gone, knew he wouldn't be able to stop until he came, until he felt Dean come. "Christ, Castiel, this is perfect, this is—" Castiel thrust hard and Dean leaked a low, drawn out moan, clutching Castiel desperately, hips rutting hard against Castiel's erection, rubbing Dean's spurting cock between them as hot come streaked their bellies. The clench and flutter of Dean's body around him was too much, far too much, gloriously too much, and Castiel sank once last time into Dean's hole and came with a joyous sigh.

They lay together, still joined, for a long time. Dean's hold on Castiel never wavered and scarce weakened, though his legs did fall to the sides. Castiel's cock softened within Dean's body but they remained close enough that he didn't pull out, warm and comforted and encompassed. Sweat cooled on their body, spunk oozed between them, and at length Castiel reached out and drew the blanket over them protectively.

"Do you want me to get something to clean us up?" asked Castiel softly.

"Maybe later," Dean murmured, mouthing a wet, tickling kiss to Castiel's earlobe. "For now, this is what I want. Fuck that - for always, this is what I want." Nodding, Castiel lay his head against Dean's shoulder, let his eyes slip shut, let comfort and warmth and love surround him. The last barrier between them was gone, Dean's last inhibition had been shattered, and it felt wonderful. There would still be problems – there would always still be problems – but this was the final show of Dean's absolute trust in him. Castiel had required no such demonstration, but nonetheless experiencing it was spectacular. Beneath him, Dean supported his weight easily, breathing slow and steady, air ghosting hot through Castiel's hair. Only Dean's hand gently stroking the small of Castiel's back demonstrated that Dean was yet awake.

"Dean," he murmured contentedly.

"Yeah, Cas?" asked Dean, soft and tender, low and rough, absolutely perfect.

"Ever wonder what might have happened if you hadn't picked me up from the airport that night?"

"No, I don't," Dean said.

"Neither do I," said Castiel.

Castiel couldn't even imagine it.

* * *

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